“I’m Kelly. And she’s my sister, Mia. The lady in our house showed us your picture and told us to find you.”
My hand froze on the block.
“What lady?”
“The lady at home,” Kelly replied simply. Then she added in the blunt honesty only a child has, “She’s not our real mom. She told us that.”
The tower of blocks toppled over.
Neither of us moved to rebuild it.
Later that afternoon, a woman I assumed was their mother arrived to pick them up. The moment I saw her, my stomach dropped.
I recognized her.Not intimately and not recently—but I had seen her before.
Once, years ago, in the background of a corporate party photo standing next to Pete, holding a drink.
I had assumed she was a coworker.
Maybe a friend.
